A Baby Brother
by RenaRoo
Summary: In the best of times there is cheer. In the worst of times there are tears. When a puzzle falls apart you pick up pieces. When a family falls apart you pick up hearts.
1. And Here I Die

This is a "reincarnation" of a story I wrote and published a little over five years ago. While there remain similarities, I like to think of this as a new story entirely. Please enjoy.

TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, Agent Bishop, and the Foot © Viacom  
Original Characters, story © RenaRoo (formerly Turtlefreak121)

**A Baby Brother  
**Chapter One: And Here I Die

He was no more than eight and never before had a creature been more sure that it would die. His only regret was that he had drug his brother, his baby brother, along with him. His brother would surely die as well. It would be a tragedy never spoken of outside these facilities' walls.

Behind them as they ran was the clatter of their masters, angered at the escape attempt. Their eyes, bloodshot and furious, were so close to the two children that their whites of their eyes (rather, what once could have been called the color _white_) could be seen.

It was then that the eight year old child; pursued by men much taller, older, and angrier than himself; made the single most desperate decision of his young life.

At the release of the snarling hounds, this brave child, only eight years of age, looked to the only other creature that he had ever loved in his life. He looked into the two year old's frightful eyes and teared as he shoved him.

The child, so easily thrown off balance, let out a single cry as he went tumbling through the hall window and into a world he had never seen before. He was hurdling through a reddened sky and plunging into a dark, foreboding city, the likes of which he had never seen.

He screamed in terror at the horrendous feeling of falling down four agonizing stories, and at his last conscious vision of his brother being eaten alive by the released dogs.

The child felt himself collide with the pavement just as his mind, at the best it could manage, tried to explain to him that he was the last of his unit to still be living.

At least ... for now.

* * *

"Shut up. Just shut up! _SHUT UP!"_

He never asked for a babysitter.

It was strange how easily the rumbling voices could carry when the sewers were quiet and everyone was still dumbstruck by the fact that violence between brothers was eminent. Surely, even though they were in a nearby tunnel, the others and their father could hear them as they viciously carried on.

"I'm going to be quiet now, Raphael," the other present brother responded with a singe of distaste in his mouth. "There's nothing left to say to you. For _any_ of us to say to you."

"Then stop tryin'," was the cold reply Raphael gave. It was flat and brutal. It stemmed from a combination of hatred and regret.

The eldest of the two was silenced, at last. Leonardo could not help his brother anymore. Something, anything else had to. The tricky part was that it would have to be someone that was on no one's side. It had to be someone outside the mutants' usual extended family.

Again, the hotheaded brother turned his back to Leonardo, their home, his family. He was leaving for God knows how long. It was going to happen again, the ripping apart of this delicately strewn together family. There was nothing Leonardo could do to stop it.

"Where are you going to stay this time? Casey and April's?" Leo attempted to prod. "They have a daughter now, Raph. They can't be imposed on like that anymore. Leatherhead's? He might not like the feeling of people sticking their noses into his business."

Stopping, Raphael could not leave the opened opportunity lying there, basking in the moonlight, he turned his head and stared at his brother with the sarcastic quip already leaking from his lips.

"Where would ya prefer my nose to be, Oh, Fearless?" he lowly hissed. "Up your ass?"

It was enough to make Leonardo stop. He did not _want_ to put up with Raphael anymore. It was the final disrespect he could take and he did not so willingly take it in stride. He shook his head and pointed a fat finger at his brother.

"I'm the head of this family now, Raphael. You want to leave it because of that? Fine. Do it. You're an adult. But dammit, don't disrespect me because of it. That's disrespecting our father's decision when you do that. You realize that, don't you?"

"I realize that I've waited too long to be my own turtle, Bro," Raphael remarked sorrowfully. "I think maybe you should consider tryin' it out for yarself."

This time Raphael turned his back to his brother for good and did not turn back around. This round was over.

No one had won.

* * *

Leatherhead did not mind for company. He relished the days he would have it and would insist on long conversations, hours after his guest's initial attempt to leave. He loved his extended mutant family: the turtles, their father, and their friends, though these friends were more seldom to see.

As good natured as any crocodile could be, however, he was territorial. He fiercely defended his sewer home from rats and unwelcomed intruders at all hours. While these varied in the forms of cockroaches to the occasional lost cat, they were all dealt with formally.

And while the good natured Leatherhead loved and adored his reptilian brothers, even their welcomeness had an expiration date.

Raphael knew he could not stay there for much longer than a night or two without risking the very unsightly side of his great, crocodilian ally.

What the turtle opted for was not a friend's home at all. It was exactly as Leonardo commented before (though Raphael be damned if he admitted any of his brother's words as truth), their friends had many other priorities that an extended guest would, quite simply, complicate beyond reason.

He stayed on the surface, in a water tower which overlooked a particularly gloomy part of town. It was a former industrial district, left gutted and rusting. Crime thrived and people sat in wide-eyed wonder as their jobs disappeared before their eyes. The only business which seemed to be running in this neglected part of the city was not hiring. It simply submitted an illegal dump of toxins into the nearby river at every chance it got. No one cared, especially the health inspectors who were sent on an all-expense paid trip to the Bahamas.

It was a perfect hunting ground for Raphael.

An even better one for the black-clad man who watched him move into the useless water tower.

...

.

End Chapter One


	2. Wanderer

TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, Prof Stockman, Agent Bishop, and the Foot © Viacom  
Original Characters, story © RenaRoo (formerly Turtlefreak121)

**A Baby Brother  
**Chapter Two: Wanderer

There is an accepted lonesomeness that one expects when he casts himself into the streets, a vagabond and wanderer. The knowledgeable ones do not anticipate any human kindness, but relish in it when they find it.

He was only two, and had not made plausibly fatal decision to be strewn out into society on his own. Yet he was no foolish child.

The only true kindness he had ever found in the world had been from his poor brother, the very one that flashed across his memories each time he shut his eyes. He was but two and yet could completely understand that the moment he watched the dogs tear into his brother's flesh, he was gone. He was not coming back.

No more than a toddler, miraculously recovered from a four story fall it seemed, he was walking the streets with no concept of how to get food or shelter for himself.

Curious about the new world he had fell into, he walked about, fancying the warmth coming from a reddish glow not far off. He was so tired. So hungry. Recovering from his fall had taken so very much out of him.

It was then that he happened upon the source of the warm, red glow, and stood face to face with the two men who had created it out of a round barrel.

Men were scary things. He had seen the terrible things they could do to small children like himself: the recent murder of his brother being only the most recent. He knew that they could hurt him and he knew that they could feed him.

Cautiously, he kept his distance.

The men stared at him. They looked very different from the orderlies which had been in every man-filled memory of the toddler's life. They seemed crooked in their backs and rather than the crisp white uniforms the child had always seen they wore drooping, stingy clothes with holes and stains and faded colors. Their chins were not boxy and shaven but hidden deep beneath layers of fuzz with protruding lips stuck in the middle.

These men also stunk. Everything stunk in this world. Smells which had never entered the child's nostrils now engulfed him and he had to cover it quickly so as the stench of filth and body odor did not overcome him.

There were not many different smells in the facilities he had grown up in.

The men were almost as confused as the child was and looked to one another before looking back to him. The shorter of the two leaned toward the other and and began talking gruffly.

"That's one of _them_ again, ain't it?"

"Haven't seen _them_ get out in a'while, now ain't we?"

Upon hearing the muttering of words, the child shook in horror. Men and Women who he had seen all his life spoke. They never spoke to him directly or to his brother but they spoke to each other. He did not like it when they spoke to one another.

"Kinda short this time."

"He new?"

"I tell ya what he is. He'a bleedin'. That'a what he is."

"I think he's hungry."

It usually meant he was in trouble.

"Well'a give him some food."

Just as the young child had turned to run again in fear for his life, he heard that word. Oh, that wonderful word. He might not have known how to speak, but he knew _that_ godly word and how it felt so good when the orderlies said it right before mealtime.

These guys were finally speaking his language.

By the time he achingly moved himself back to his former position, he could see it. This ugly, dirt colored hand covered in the tattered remains of a glove held out the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. A Reece's cup half eaten.

With great speed, he lunged at the offering hand and felt his heart patter in his chest. It had been nearly two days since his last meal and he was about to make this one last.

Wearing only the wide-eyed wonder of a child, he graciously clamored at the opportunity to eat. Grabbing with tiny fingers at the food, he snatched it from the other hand and began shoving it into his mouth. Oh, how it tasted so good.

He plopped onto his naked rear on the cold street and savored each taste of chocolate in his mouth. It was so much better than even the top of the corn-feed he had been fed like an animal his entire life.

"I think'a ya were right."

"He'sa cold. Look a' this naked bum. Give him ya coat."

"It's the only one 'a got."

"Fine, a'll give him mine."

The child sucked on his tongue for the melted chocolate caught in its every groove and closed his eyes so tightly.

In his mind, his brother was sitting in front of him. They grinned contently at each other, both free and safe, as they sucked on their own half-eaten treats. His brother was there and it was all he needed in the world.

The child opened his eyes as he felt something heavy cover his shoulders and he looked up to see the second person in the world to ever give him kindness: a man with a fuzzy face. He then looked to the coat which wrapped around his shoulders.

Suddenly, the child began to cry and howl. He did not know why.

* * *

Donatello found that the clicking of a tick-tock-clock was strange and mysterious. At times its melody was completely soothing to him. Other times it was just another case of white noise.

As he sat there and stared at his computer screen, silently praying that his older brothers did not kill one another, it was _maddening. _

When Leonardo made his way across the Lair with a scowl burned into his face, it was both relieving and anxiety-inducing. Relieving in the prospect that at least one of his brothers survived another famous altercation. Anxiety-inducing in the fact that, at least for another night, Raphael was not accepting the new family order.

The divide was terrorizing to Donatello. He knew that it, more than anything else, would lead to a future where there _was_ no family, no way to pick up the pieces. He knew that it was possibly one of the most devastating things that could happen to them all.

It was also a similarity between their world and the world he desperately wished they would avoid. He wished nothing more than to avoid the reality like the one he had been sent to nearly five years beforehand.

They were already much too close to it considering the physical state of their master.

Once Leonardo disappeared into their father's room, Michelangelo appeared by Don's desk; as expected.

"You really need to talk to Master Splinter if it's bothering you so much," Mike stated immediately, as if, in the silence, he had been reading Donatello's mind.

"I never said it was bothering me that he made Leo the new master," Don responded. "It's bothering Raph. That's what's bothering me."

"Yeah, so you should probably go talk to him."

Life was so simple in the eyes of Michelangelo. Don could only sigh and remind himself that it was not how reality dictated things. _Rarely_ were things ever simple.

Looking seriously to his brother, Donatello frowned, "There's not anything Master Splinter can do now to correct Raph's bad moods, Mikey. We have to just hope that Raph brightens up and comes to terms with it on his own. I mean ... that's a _possible_ outcome. It certainly isn't _impossible_."

"Yeah, I'm sure that Raph is just aching to get back here and apologize to Leo for being a douche. Totally in character for him," Mike responded with a roll of his eyes. "I mean, Master Splinter might be missing his leg, but he can still haul ass. He hauled ass even when it had just been cut off."

Don simply stared at his brother until reason settled back in the excitable Michelangelo's mind and he quieted himself out of respect for what Master Splinter did for them.

"How do you think Leo is as a master so far, anyway? You never mention it," Mike added quickly with a small attempt at subterfuge.

Shaking his head, Don shrugged. "I think that it's probably rude of a student to talk about their master behind their back, even if that master is eldest brother by name alone."

Sniffing some, Mike sat on Don's desk to further irritate him. "Cute, Don. Personally, I think that we spend too much time meditating. He spent almost three years from home, y'know? If you think about it all together. First when he went to Japan to train with the Ancient One, and then when he traveled around the world to study. Why can't he teach us what he's learned from _that_ stuff?"

Don frowned and looked back at the computer screen. "Because those are things you _do, _not learn."

* * *

He stooped over the creature and sneered at the bloody mess it had left.

"Dammit," he muttered before standing up, the genetically altered hounds whimpering at the detected anger in their master. He turned to them, eying their blood soaked faces before shaking his head and glaring at his partner.

"Shit, man," the slack jawed colleague finally breathed before bringing a hand to his forehead. "You think it's dead?"

With a scowl on his face, the other merely faced his partner and snapped, "What do you think? Why didn't you call your mutts off of them sooner? Do you have any idea how much trouble we're going to be in? I mean, _shit_ ..."

"Are you sure the other one wasn't outside? I mean, it was shoved through the window," the lesser of the two men began to fumble his words. "Surely to God it couldn't have survived that fall. It was beastly."

"Don't you know anything?" the orderly hissed before standing up, wiping the blood on his hands off on his clean, white pants. "These are supposed to be the new super soldiers the army's making. Supposedly they can withstand almost anything. It was long gone by the time I got downstairs." He gnashed his teeth and glared at his colleague. "I was hoping that you'd not be such a dumbass and at least keep _this_ one alive."

The dogs whimpered again.

"I tried, man. The dogs ... I guess they liked what they tasted."

He waited for a moment, staring at the man as if he was expecting a recanting of his excuse. When it did not come, he growled lowly and shoved him aside as he walked through the hallway. His eyes narrowed as he made his way to the elevator.

As he reached into the scrub pants he was wearing, the remaining orderly watched him curiously.

"Parker, what are you doing?" he asked.

Stepping into the elevator and turning to face the other, Parker narrowed his eyes, pulling out the gun he had hidden in his pants and loading it. "I'm getting back N-three-nineteen. The doctor's already going to be riding our asses on this one, I'm not about to let it get any worse."

"So you're going to just kill it?" he asked as the doors began to close. "After all that you just said to me about this one?"

"No," Parker replied, the doors almost closing and obstructing their views. "I'm going to make it _wish_ it were dead."

* * *

There was a certain coldness in the air that did not so much as strike Raphael as odd for the city's night, but it caused him to wonder. With all the hustle and bustle of the city taking place down below him, did something feel truly awry?

He could not tell.

As he sat on his haunches, far above the dirty streets of a long forgotten neighborhood, Raphael could not help but feel a sense of condescension.

How could people live this way?

If even a single person left their roost, it was quickly and dishelved, with their eyes constantly concerned with what was over their shoulders. They were almost afraid to look forward and see something they were not supposed to.

That or they were penniless and drunk, wondering how others came to see them as another stutter-spoken fool instead of the person they were.

Something was wrong tonight, and Raph would be damned if he did not figure out what it was.

Then, as if a rare bone had been thrown to him, he watched as two men, cleanly dressed in white, sticking out like sore thumbs in the darkness of the neighborhood, made their ways through the trashy streets. They were panicked until they came sprinting toward the alley across the street from Raphael.

...

.

End Chapter Two

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	3. In the Crossfire

TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, Prof Stockman, Agent Bishop, and the Foot © Viacom  
Original Characters, story © RenaRoo (formerly Turtlefreak121)

**A Baby Brother  
**Chapter Three: In the Crossfire

"I don't think I'm cut out for this. I know you disagree. I know I shouldn't doubt your judgement, but I'm only mortal. He senses that I still blame him for what happened and because of that he can't trust me. I don't say I can blame him. A real leader doesn't dish out blame, he shares it. But I've meditated on this problem for days at a time and I've finally come to the conclusion that ... I'm not a leader. I blame him."

It had once been the hardest thing for him to ever admit out loud. Until the moment that it came through his teeth, Leonardo did not believe he would ever express it verbally. He was even more certain that he would never say it to his master.

Much like the waters of a dam once they have found a leak, however, the second he allowed the first word to pass his lips, the rest came _gushing._

Situated on his bed with a stance more like a yogi than a disciple of ninjitsu, Master Splinter was positioned in a perfect lotus, his dark eyes surrounded by oceans of gray fur which had grown long and now draped like waterfalls over his robes. His right hand rested upon his right knee. His left hand rested upon his left stub.

There was a long silence after Leonardo's peculiar announcement and the blue masked turtle was unsure if his master was disappointed, surprised, or both.

At last, participating in some small signs of life, the rat master brought his left hand from his stub to his chin and gently split the hairs of his long, uncut beard with his long nails. The rat was for a moment lost in thought. And then, suddenly, he spoke.

"You have meditated long and hard on this subject, Leonardo? How many days would you say it has been?"

For a small amount of time, Leonardo had to collect his thoughts. "Nearly a week, at least," he responded at last.

"For how many hours?"

Swallowing, Leonardo could not even begin to fathom such a number. Surely his master had a point in all these questions. "Three hours each day, in the least."

"Have you fasted upon this subject?"

Suppressing his annoyance with the very subject, Leonardo bowed his head humbly to the old rat. "Both willingly and unwillingly, Master."

Leonardo was unsure what to expect in response for his last admittance, but it most certainly had not been the return of silence. After what felt like ages of his head bowed to the floor, the older turtle at last looked to the only father he had ever known.

Once again, the old rat had returned to a meditative stance and his cold, dark eyes were upon Leonardo. Behind them, however, the turtle could sense slight disappointment and without saying a single word to him, his master had crushed his heart.

Then he spoke again.

"There is nothing I can do to assist you, Leonardo," Master Splinter sighed. "Your heart is closed off to one of your brothers. If you can still lead the others in this time then I will praise you. Do keep in mind, however, that no matter how right, when your heart is hardened for one of your family, it is hardened to them all."

Feeling as though the old rat had removed a part of his gut, Leonardo sulked out.

* * *

"You gonnan done it, Bert," the directionless man muttered as he crossed his arms and looked at the crying mass beneath his close friend's jacket. "I tolja that thing was just much too stiff to comfort him."

"I don't think that's mucha what it is at all, Franklin," the long bearded Norbert replied before kneeling by the naked lad now covered by his jacket. He frowned as he looked at the mutilated child, so disfigured and different from his own, though ragged, appearance. In spite of the physical differences between them, even this supposed "bum" with his one glass eye and tangled mane could see absolute sadness and emptiness within the child. "Do you think the others will come and get 'em?"

The other looked about nervously. He had heard tales of what happened when one was on the bad side of those creatures. He did not want to be anymore associated with this negative situation then he had to be.

"I dona think it matters ta us, Bert. We should be-a gettin' outta here before anyone sees us with him," Frank responded, ignoring the fact that the child's cries had lessened and he was looking shakily at his friend.

The old Norbert merely shook his head and reached over, gently buttoning the jacket he had placed over the little child's body, ignoring how strangely hard his chest was or how broad his back.

"I would want someone to help me," he said with a sigh before looking to the puzzled and irritated Frank. "And I think you would want someone to help you, too."

"We dun't have anythin' but our lives an' the clothes on our backs," he reminded Bert. "What can we give him or anyone else?"

Norbert smiled as he looked into the face of the child who did not understand a word being said. He patted his bald head. "We can give those two things we have, and a friendly hand. Isn't that all we need to give?"

Frank, feeling his stomach's twists of uneasiness, merely hit his own head. "Geezes, Bert. We're gettin' our asses kicked t'night by those green–"

Before another word could be exchanged, the irritated yelling of two men running so very quickly at the two homeless men and their new, young friend, filled the alley with echoes. The worrisome Franklin and the generous Norbert looked up at the frightful white orderlies just as the young child screamed and clamored up. The two confused residents of the alley could barely turn to look at what the child was doing before guns began firing.

* * *

There once was a time when he was in a large, blank room. It was too bright and white and in it, everything he saw was fuzzy, incoherent. In his delusional state, he could not tell where the walls started or the floor ended. There existed no one but himself and nearly a dozen children just like him. They were more adjusted to the room than him. They could figure out where they should stop walking in order to not mash their faces into the white walls.

He never could see that well, though. Instead he found himself barely able to stand out of confusion.

This made him an easy target for the men in white. They could sneak up on him while the others huddled together in a group in the corner, hiding in each other's embraces from the sadistic men. No one dared to warn the runt of this litter when the orderlies were coming or where they were lurking already in the white room. If they did that, well, the orderlies would have to find someone else.

This went on for a time. The silent children never came close to their runt, instinctively knowing he would die.

That was, no one came to him until an older child was sent to their room. He was older, taller, and stronger than all of them. His body was riddled with dots, scars from the testing the young litter was not old enough to endure. The most noticeable feature, however, was his triangular jaw which jutted out just beneath a hooked beak. He looked sharp and mean.

On the first day of his time with the younger litter, the older child saw the orderlies enter and head toward the little runt. Before they laid a hand on him, however, the older child ran forth and attacked, biting into their legs with his massive jaw which would simply not let go until the child decided to release his white dressed victim.

It was not too long until more orderlies came and both the runt and the older turtle were beaten.

A bond had already been formed, however, and it was one that would not disappear. The two from that moment on were inseparable and in their silent brotherhood, they watched as the orderlies no longer messed with the two of them, but killed off the other children one by one.

In those times, the older brother would grab onto the runt's hand and pull him, bringing him into a sprint to the opposite corner of the room. It was in that way they kept themselves alive.

* * *

As soon as the child released that insufferable squeal, Parker knew what it was. His colleague, unwisely choosing to follow him, barely had time to react before Parker had his gun aimed and began shooting.

"Shit, Parker!" he yelled. "Wake up the neighborhood!"

"What neighborhood?" he responded as the unfortunate homeless man who had been kneeling in front of the lost child went flying backwards with a discouraging crack. The second dove behind a trash bin with a cry to his fallen comrade before another round of shots went off from Parker. "No one cares about what goes on around here!"

The orderlies set their sights on the running child who made his way into the corner of the dead end street. He screamed before huddling up in the corner, seeking solace behind the stiff coat wrapped around him. Parker smirked as he neared the child, he recognized this one alright.

The second grabbed the remaining hobo by his collar and rose him into the air, the man kicking and squirming out of fear for his life. "You're not telling a soul about this, got that, Grandpa?"

"Ya shot Bert!" was all the red nosed man could reply, his jaw quivering in shock. "Bert dun nuttin'! I dun less!"

The orderly did not even give the moaning man behind him a glance as he moaned in a weak attempt to pull himself back up to no avail. The crimson color which began to shine through his clothes was enough to keep that old man from telling a soul. Not that anyone would believe shiftless bums such as them.

"You're not hiding from me, kid," Parker grinned before pointing the gun at the child's tiny feet. "And you're also not going to be running from me. Not anytime soon."

Before the first shot, a shadow emerged from the darkness and tackled the shocked orderly, knocking the gun from his hands and rolling him into another shadow. Parker's partner could barely drop the homeless man and turn around before hearing the crying out of his colleague before a silencing crack.

He knew what was happening and did not dare speak a word.

The remaining orderly eyed his fallen partner's gun before racing forward, knowing it was his only hope for survival. His hand stretched forth, as he stumbled to reach it, but he looked to the shadows just before and found himself hypnotized by the haunting white slits which emerged from the darkness.

"NO!" he yelled just as a forked weapon came slicing through the air. It moved too fast for the orderly to redirect his hand's course and he found himself pierced by its prongs. He let out a scream just before the green creature emerged from the shadows and grabbed him by the sides of his head.

The well practiced ninja prepared to snap the orderly's neck just like Parker's when a second shadow covered them both, causing them to look up as the cloaked figured of another vigilante appeared and landed.

"That's quite enough, Raphael," the shadow said darkly as he rose to a standing position. "Knock him out if you must, but I need him for questioning. You should take this man," he held a red gloved hand to the defenseless hobo behind him, "to the hospital and the child to the Justice Force's Headquarters."

"Why?" the green skinned turtle snarled. "You're the one who said to my brothers and me that sometimes we gotta take justice into our own hands? And why not take the kid to the hospital, too? Or the orphanage?"

The orderly remained quiet, biting his lip in terror as he realized that only the flick of this monster's wrist could mean the death of him.

Nobody pointed to the child. "Because neither of those places would know what to do with it."

_"It?"_ Raphael questioned before pulling the orderly into a headlock and walking over to the child huddled in the corner.

The orderly swallowed as he watched the ninja stare, studying the experiment for a few moments. He shook as he watched Raphael took in what he was seeing; his eyes widening in realization that the skin was rough and textured, his face noseless, and his color a paled green.

"You son of a bitch," Raphael muttered as he looked down at the orderly and brought his face down hard against his knee cap, causing the orderly to black out.

...

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End Chapter Three

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